Fragile

To Lust, To Love.

Saturday, 5:00 a.m. , Jack Ernest's apartment

Saturdays. An opportunity to rest, to sleep, to dream. To take one's mind far away from the harsh teachings of reality. An opportunity to do nothing, or to do acts of virtue like an angel, or to endlessly commit sin like a demon. Jack, being the lazy excuse for a human being that he is, chose to do the first act.

There he was, lying on his bed, too lethargic to even allow a single limb to move an inch. Even though it was early in the morning, he remained wide awake. His eyes were fixated on the dirty-white, dusty ceiling of his room, wondering why he could not sleep even if he did not have to worry about doing tasks for school, and he definitely did not have to worry about waking up early since it was a weekend. He continued wondering why, and after a moment, he found the most obvious answer.

He simply could not bring himself to sleep, for his mind was always on his teacher. No matter how much he struggled to sleep, all his efforts were in vain as his mind always found the image of Miss Kate Summers within the walls of its wide, endless maze. Suddenly, his motionless body began to writhe, twist, and turn trying to get even just an inkling, a wink of sleep. It did not help that as he moved around on his bed and wrinkled the sheets even further, he also struggled to remember the scent of his History teacher when he encountered her last Thursday, when she covered him with her umbrella as he was about to become soaking wet with the rain suddenly pouring down on him.

Jack tightly squeezed his pillow as he felt the desire to get up, and find Miss Summers, wherever in the world she may be. Find her where? , he silently wondered to himself. He simply wanted to talk to her, to have a small chat, or if he is fortunate enough, to have a long and decent conversation with her. He dearly longed for that sensation of almost touching her, just as he did last Thursday. To hear her voice, and to look at those sleepy and tired, but twinkling eyes.

What was her scent again? Was it the smell of rose? Or perhaps, jasmine? Whatever it was, I do not know how I could forget it...

He looked at his pillow for a second, then he slowly hugged it, his arms tightening around it, little by little. Then, he sniffed its cover, wishing that it was not his pillow that he held in his arms but rather Miss Summers herself. The sudden desire to do acts of pleasuring the flesh overwhelmed him, yet, he struggled. He did not want to defile such a pure emotion for someone, but it was too-

He ran his hands across the long, black hair of Miss Kate Summers...which was nothing more than the cover of his pillow.

He caressed her head as he kissed her neck and slowly breathed in her scent...but she was nothing more than just the cover of his pillow.

His hands traveled from Miss Summer's waist to her chest, and he gently pressed her chest. Miss Summers giggled...but she was nothing more than just the cover of his pillow, and the only sound to be heard was the chirping of birds in the early dawn.

He turned his head to face Miss Summers, and as their eyes met, Jack brushed the hair of his History teacher away from her face, and he pressed his lips upon hers...but she was nothing more than the cover of his pillow.

Jack's hands reached for the buttons on the dress that Miss Summers was wearing, and he began to undo them. He feasted his eyes upon the now naked and exposed body of Miss Summers, then he began to touch every single inch of her...but it was nothing more than Jack taking off the cover of his pillow as he imagined that cover to be Miss Summer's dress.

Late. It was too late, as the once pure and romantic feelings Jack Ernest has for his History teacher completely degenerated into carnal lust, the very thing he wanted to avoid. Jack snapped back to reality, and he immediately realized what he was doing. The feeling of disgust immediately swept over him as he thought of how lewd his thoughts were towards the very person he had fallen for.

"Ah, f**k! If only I could tell her, right now how I feel about her. I won't have this problem of thinking of her in such a dirty manner, but what the hell, how can I ? What do I tell her? Do I tell her that I f****d my pillow as I imagined it to be her? What would she think of me?"

He was already loud enough for people to consider it shouting. In a fit of rage directed towards himself and no one else, he grabbed his pillow and threw it towards the wall. He curled up into a ball on his bed, ashamed of himself. Tears fell from his eyes as he silently chastised himself for having those perverse thoughts about his teacher. He wondered if he truly did have feelings of affection for his teacher, or if he simply lusted after her physical features.

He thought about how he was able to undress Miss Summers with nothing but his mind made him rock back and forth harder than ever as the tears from his eyes flowed like a waterfall. He struggled to gain back the piece of innocent attraction he had for his teacher, but it came in the form of the painful memory from the Thursday that he was able to be so close to Miss Summers as she sheltered him.

He unwillingly got up and picked his pillow back up, and he hugged it tightly as he cried into it. The pillow, which was formerly his object of lust, was baptized by the tears of his sadness, and his longing for that piece of innocence which he lost.

After he spent some time draining out the tears, Jack found the strength to get up, find the notebook of his secrets, and write. His backpack was just sitting right atop his desk. He unzipped the backpack, took out his notebook, and set the black bag under the desk. He pulled out the chair, and he sat down. He was still sniffling. He opened to the page that he had previously written on. Upon seeing that it still had a bit of space, he only wrote a single sentence.

If only feelings were as fragile as hearts, I would break them.